Chasing Shade

SOMMER MARSDEN

A division of HarperCollinsPublishers

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Mischief

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers

1 London Bridge Street

London, SE1 9GF

www.mischiefbooks.com

An eBook Original 2015

Copyright © Sommer Marsden 2015

Sommer Marsden asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

EBook Edition © 2015 ISBN: 9780008148744

Version: 2015–05–26

When I saw you I fell in love, and you smiled because you knew.

William Shakespeare

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Epigraph

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Epilogue

More from Mischief

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

Archie Rader swerved his truck, cussed and then slowed. There was very little traffic on the road at this hour and he was curious. Curious enough to back up his ancient pickup in the middle of the street.

‘What the hell?’ He stared at it for a moment before realising what he was contemplating wasn’t organic. It was, in fact, synthetic. It was a weave. A hair extension in an odd caramel colour. ‘And here you thought it was a beaver, dumb ass.’

He put the truck back in drive just as headlights came up on the crest of the hill behind him. He had no idea where he was going other than along the road he was on. That’s what the guy at the gas station had told him. Follow this road to the diner. Chicken, waffles, cheap pancakes and rashers of bacon as far as the eye could see is what he’d promised. He’d also promised the shittiest coffee Archie had ever had.

He could live with that.

‘So long, roadkill.’ He pressed the gas, ignored the little hitch the truck gave as it took off, and focused on finding some food. His head was too full of bullshit and worry to even think about it before coffee. Not after he’d been driving all night long.

And since he had nowhere to go, he’d be driving all day and all night again. And again. And then again until he somehow figured this big mess out. Being homeless and drifting had not been in his game plan for this year. Settling down, starting a family, being a grown-ass man…that had been his plan.

‘No use crying over spilled dreams,’ he whispered. Then he saw the larger-than-life yellow and red sign for the diner and his heart leaped just a little. He had about two hundred dollars to his name, not counting the stuff in the bank that would be harder to get. He aimed to spend some of what he had on breakfast.

‘Betsey, I ordered an English muffin.’ Earl waved a limp piece of toast at her.

Betsey did her best to not roll her eyes. ‘You ordered toast, Earl.’

‘No, I didn’t.’

Mrs Kline rolled her eyes at Betsey, breaking the eye-rolling rule. Betsey smiled. Earl had been having a problem remembering things lately. Luckily his daughter Janine thought it was due to a new medication and not the more dreaded senility or something more serious. ‘He ordered toast, I heard him,’ Mrs Kline whispered conspiratorially.

Betsey gave her a nod and a wink and then made her way over to Earl. She loved her job, believe it or not. What she hated was the ugly-ass brown-mustard-baby-poop-yellow diner uniform complete with Peter Pan collar and red neckerchief. Maybe one of these days The Double Star would decide to update its uniform.

She snatched the toast from Earl, dumped it in the trash, patted his hand and yelled, ‘An English muffin for Earl!’ through the order window at Tony. Tony, a gaunt man with about four grey hairs on his head, grunted once and turned to slide an English muffin into the toaster.

‘Thanks, Bets.’

‘No problem, Earl. I must have misheard you.’

As she passed Mrs Kline again on her way to wipe down the empty tables, the woman whispered, ‘You should have saved the toast. He’s liable to get the other and swear he ordered toast.’

Betsey chuckled. ‘Damn. Why didn’t I think of that?’

The pickup truck pulled up just as she was replacing the Mason jar full of fake daisies and sunflowers on the table. The truck was a 70s model if it was a day and a nice mustard-yellowish brown to match her uniform. But somehow the colour worked on steel way better than on a twenty-five-year-old woman.

‘Hello, stranger.’

She meant the truck, but when the man who drove it got out her interest perked.

No room for that kind of stuff, lady. Put your revving sex drive away.

‘– up!’

She turned and before she could catch herself barked, ‘What?’

‘Order up!’

‘Order?’

‘My English muffin!’ Earl said around a mouthful of food. Then: ‘Ah, never mind, doll, keep doing that.’ He stood up, walked behind the counter and grabbed his food from the pickup window. He’d only been eating at the Double Star for thirty or forty years. Betsey figured she could let that slide.

She was eager to study the newcomer some more when the little brass bell over the door jingled and he entered. At least six foot three, he had dark-dark-brown hair and pale-blue eyes. The lovely colour of a favourite pair of jeans worn almost to death. Speaking of jeans, he was wearing them and they were perfection, Betsey thought. Levi’s, same pale-blue as his eyes, and sitting right there on his lean hips. Right where the sweet spot was. Not too high so he looked like grandpa. Not too low so he looked like some young skater kid who needed to hitch up his pants every three seconds. They were also not too tight and not too loose.

Not to sound too much like Goldilocks, but Betsey thought the stranger’s jeans were just right. Beyond the jeans he wore work boots, a green Henley and a brown bomber jacket that appeared to actually have been bombed.

‘– seat before I perish?’

She blinked, sound swimming back to her ears as if she’d been in the vicinity of the bomb that had destroyed that jacket of his.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘I said, can I just grab a seat before I perish?’ He grinned at her and her stomach seemed to vibrate. It was a disturbing but not unpleasant sensation.

‘You must be hungry,’ she said, grateful she didn’t sound as tongue-tied as she felt. ‘You can have this booth.’

He slid in and she handed him a menu from her ugly-ass red apron. ‘Everything is good. Before you ask.’

‘Great. Then what’s cheap?’

She laughed. ‘Restricted budget?’

‘The most restricted. As in dirt poor and counting every penny.’

‘Ah, then I recommend breakfast number one. Two eggs, two pieces of bacon, two pieces of ham, hash browns and some fruit. Or what passes as fruit in this joint. You also get some coffee and some juice.’

‘For four bucks?’ he asked, then laughed.

That laugh was golden, Betsey thought.

What the hell is with you, woman? Smitten much?

‘Bargain, right? Especially since it’s so big some of the old-timers get a to-go box and have the rest for dinner later.’

He wrinkled his nose and her stomach did that weird electric boogaloo again. ‘Leftover eggs?’

She shrugged and caught his gaze directed right at the three pearly buttons on the bodice of her hideous ensemble. Her cheeks coloured and her heart did a little rhumba to go with the dance her stomach was doing.

‘I think they stick with leftover meat and hash browns. The eggs and toast get consumed at breakfast.’

She rubbed her forehead. Why was she running her mouth to this poor guy?

He didn’t seem to mind, though. ‘And the fruit?’ He smiled at her and she could tell he was now studying her the way she’d been studying him. With interest. Her skin suddenly felt too tight.

‘I’m pretty sure the fruit gets taken home and then thrown out anyway. Poor fruit. But what can you do? It seems to be the fate of diner fruit. Warm orange smiles and wrinkled grapes. It’s sad.’

He chuckled again and closed the menu. ‘You sold me. I’ll take the number one. And skip the fruit.’

She shook her head and tsked at him. ‘Oh, mister, we can’t skip the fruit. That might bring about the apocalypse.’

He nodded. ‘I understand.’

She hurried off to place his order, studiously ignoring the fact that her knees felt like they might buckle and dump her on her ass.

‘He’s a cutie,’ Mrs Kline whispered-shouted as Betsey passed. Betsey cringed. Her chest flushed with heat when she heard him laugh again.

You didn’t say it, she reminded herself. Mrs Kline said it.

‘I need a number one,’ she said to Tony. Then, as an afterthought, ‘Extra fruit.’ This time Betsey was the one to laugh.

Chapter 2

Archie watched her go. She had quite the ass, he thought, as he kept his eyes pinned on her curvy form. Then he felt bad for thinking it. He had no right to even be noticing women right now. His life – the love part and otherwise – had been a trainwreck lately. To notice her might put a curse on her.

‘The curse of Archie Rader,’ he said to himself softly.

‘Who?’ The old woman had a highly complicated bun that appeared to be long braids wound atop her head. Her hair was the colour of fresh snow.

‘What?’

‘Who were you talking to?’ she said.

‘Myself.’ He had to smile at her. She was so obviously nosy and unapologetic about it.

‘And you are?’

He stuck out his hand. ‘Archie Rader.’

‘Madeline Kline.’ She shook with a good amount of strength for a woman he was guessing to be roughly seventy. ‘That was Betsey Smith you were just ogling, by the way.’

‘I wouldn’t call it ogling,’ he said, lying.

‘Really? At eighty-one I’d definitely call it ogling. I’ve seen quite a few ogles in my life.’ She sipped her coffee. ‘What are you doing here in Deep Creek Adjacent?’

‘Pardon?’

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Eating. But I meant the Deep Creek Adjacent thing?’

‘Oh, we’re not the actual lake. And not ritzy enough for some of the lake folks to acknowledge us. Inside joke, we’re Deep Creek Adjacent. Of if you’re lazy like a lot of the locals, DCA.’

‘Oh. I see. I’m just passing through. I’m starving and the guy up at the last gas station said to come here to eat.’

‘Ah, that’s Gary. Gary sends everyone here because the owner is his cousin. I swear he gets a kickback.’

‘That’s fascinating, Mrs Kline,’ Betsey said. She set his coffee and orange juice down and cocked a thumb back towards the counter. ‘Go back to your seat.’

‘But Betsey, I was just getting to know Arch–’

‘Mrs Kline, we talked about this.’

The old woman sighed. ‘Fine, fine. I’m going.’

‘Saved by the Betsey,’ he said, studying her warm brown eyes. Her hair was the colour of light coffee with streaks of golden honey. It was a strange colour set off by her dark eyes. ‘Thanks.’

‘No problem. She’d make you unhinge your jaw so she could count your teeth if you let her get away with it.’

He doctored his coffee while she stood there. Then he asked. ‘Any cheap accommodations around here?’

‘Some. Up by the main road. Pay-by-the-night places. But they’re a little…’ She shrugged. ‘Is seedy a word we still use?’

‘We do.’

‘Good, because it is.’ She held out her hand. ‘Betsey Smith.’

‘So I heard. I’m Rader.’

‘That’s not what I heard.’

He put his head down and shook it. ‘Archie Rader, but I go by Rader when I can. I try to anyway.’

‘Why? Archie’s nice.’

‘Archie is a comic-book character.’

‘But he’s also a you.’

Archie sipped his coffee. ‘Who was named after a comic-book character.’

‘Oh.’ She shrugged and smiled. The smile amazed him. It took her already warm and friendly face and transformed it to stunning. ‘Back to the seedy motel then.’

‘Good choice. Change of subject.’

‘How long are you looking to stay?’

The bell dinged loudly and a man barked, ‘Order up, Bets!’

Betsey held up a finger. ‘Hold that answer. That’s your food. You look starved.’ Archie couldn’t help but watch her walk away again. There was a lot of swing on that back porch, as his grandad used to say. He smiled. Then he saw Mrs Kline watching him and witnessing that smile.

She grinned at him and he noticed she was missing a substantial number of teeth.

‘Behave, Mrs Kline,’ Betsey said on her way back to his table.

‘I’m not the one checking out your ass,’ Mrs Kline said.

‘Sorry,’ Archie said when Betsey set his plate down.

‘For her or for checking out my ass?’

‘If I lie and say I wasn’t looking would it earn me points?’ He bit into a piece of bacon and it only accented how hungry he was. He hadn’t realised.

‘No. But admitting you were would earn you some. I think it’s been a long time since someone’s checked out my ass.’ She leaned against the bench opposite him and watched him eat.

‘I doubt that. I think they’re just more skilled at hiding it than me.’

She smiled at that. ‘Anyway, how long you looking to stay?’

It was Archie’s turn to shrug. ‘I have no clue. I’m sort of rambling. Found myself suddenly without a home or a job or even a temporary place. So yeah…just the kind of guy you want checking out your ass, right?’

She crossed her arms over her chest and a small frown twisted her lips in the most adorable way. He wondered what it was like to kiss Betsey. And then reminded himself it was a dangerous thought to be having. Emotional ties to people weren’t exactly his thing right now.

‘Everyone has crappy times in life,’ she said. ‘If you have any interest in staying here I wouldn’t recommend the one-night-seedy-hotel route.’

‘No?’

‘No. I think you should come home with me,’ she said.

He almost spit out his coffee but settled on choking on it instead.

She held up her hands saying softly, ‘Put your hands up, put your hands up,’ as if he were a child. Another endearing quality of pretty Betsey.

When he could breathe again she laughed softly. ‘I know how that sounded. I meant to my trailer park. We’re not far from here and Mr Booth, he owns the place, is looking for a handyman. Our last one…well, he died.’

‘It’s not a haunted trailer park, is it?’

At the counter Mrs Kline snorted with laughter. She wasn’t very subtle with her eavesdropping, Archie thought.

‘No. It’s just he was old. Anyway, we need a new one and it comes with employee quarters.’ The last two words were accompanied by air quotes.

‘Air quotes make me nervous,’ he said.

She snickered. ‘They should. It’s an ancient trailer with bare necessities but it’s a paying job and it’s better than living in your truck, right?’

He eyed his truck. On its last legs, floor full of rust holes, running on fumes half the time and threatening to die the other half.

Then he looked at Betsey. Wouldn’t be so bad to have her as a neighbour. Not from what he could see.

‘What do you think?’ she asked. ‘Sounds like you could use a stroke of good luck. Even if it’s modest.’

He nodded. ‘Sounds good. What makes you so sure your trailer-park owner will hire me?’

She winked. ‘He asked if I’d help find somebody. I just found somebody.’

Chapter 3

‘What if I’m an axe murderer?’ he asked, finishing off his first egg in a big bite.

‘You don’t look like one,’ Betsey said.

He was teasing her. It did strange things to her insides. It had been a long time since a man had flirted with her or teased her. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. It had been a long time since a man whom she welcomed advances from had done any of those things. Mostly it was guys she considered like a brother or an uncle or a dad. But this man…she’d noticed him before he’d even come in and she couldn’t quite help noticing him over and over again. Every time she turned away and then looked back, her stomach did that strange dropping thing that was both exhilarating and terrifying.

‘Maybe I’m one too. One axe murderer would have nothing to fear from another, now would she? Clearly if I can wield an axe I can take you.’

‘I like the sound of you taking me,’ he said softly.

When her face coloured, she put her hands to her cheeks. ‘Wow –’

‘Sorry, sorry,’ he said. ‘But touché. What time do you get off your shift, Bets–’

‘Betsey, Jesus Christ, order up! Flirt on your own time.’

She turned even hotter and brighter red, she could tell. ‘I get off in an hour. Sorry. I have to –’

He waved her off and she fled, grateful that he couldn’t see her face any more. She was fairly certain it was somewhere around the colour of Santa’s suit.

When she got close to the order window, Tony leaned in and growled, ‘Knock it off.’

She gulped and grabbed her plate from the steel shelf. At the last second Tony’s hand shot out and he held her in place. ‘But you could do worse, kid. I think we’d all like to see you go out on a date.’

That was worse than him barking at her. His encouragement tinged with a touch of pity. This pseudo-family she’d managed to create for herself was wonderful and full of life and…nosy as hell.

‘OK. I mean yes. I –’

‘You haven’t had a date in ages…’ He was about to go on, she could tell.

‘I haven’t found a nice guy, Tony,’ she sighed. ‘Now let me get my order out before it comes back to you for being cold.’

He released her immediately because nothing stuck in Tony’s craw worse than food being returned.

She hustled to the man who’d ordered the fried chicken plate and delivered his food. Her eyes, traitorous things that they were, kept wanting to dart over and check out Archie. When she did let them wander in his general direction he was still polishing off his number one breakfast. And watching her, of course.

A sharp burst of electric attraction rattled her bones and she hoped no one could see how shamelessly interested she was. It had been ages since her last date, because either men seemed to not fit into her life or they saw her – once they realised who she was – as a sideshow freak. An attraction to be shown to the world. She didn’t need that. She’d rather be alone.

She found herself watching him again, not even realising it, as she wiped down the deserted end of the counter. Everyone was taken care of and she just needed to clean up and pray for no new diners before her shift ended.

He waved her over and Betsey went, half afraid he’d just tell her to stop staring, it’s creepy.

‘Do you need a takeout box?’ she asked.

He waved a hand at his now empty plate – but for fruit – and laughed. ‘Not really.’

‘You were supposed to save some of that, weren’t you?’ She couldn’t help but smile.

‘I was. But I didn’t.’

‘Did you need more coffee?’

‘Sure. And water? And just to say hi.’

The last bit set her body buzzing. Betsey trapped her tongue between her teeth and tried to keep a sharp focus. ‘Hi.’

‘Did you know there’s a dead woodchuck out there on Main Street?’

‘Woodchuck?’ She glanced at Tony. He sighed, waved his spatula and made a placating motion with his hands. All intricate pantomime for ‘sit down, for God’s sake’.

She sat.

Archie smiled at her. It did strange things to her insides all over again.

‘It was actually, I’m fairly certain, a hairpiece. A weave.’

Betsey put her head in her hands and started laughing. ‘Oh, my God. There are way more of those things around here than you’d believe. Bus stop, roads, lawns! I find them all the time at the trailer park.’

‘So this place – what’s it called?’ He pointed outside and actually ate one of the wrinkled grapes off his plate.

‘Turner’s Corner.’

‘Turner’s Corner.’ He nodded. ‘Which is Deep Creek Adjacent. It’s just a place for old weaves to die?’

‘Seems to be.’ She spun a spoon on the table. Round and round and round again just to distract herself from thinking about how nice it was to be sitting here. How good it felt to joke with someone.

‘Is the trailer park far from here?’

‘Not really. About a mile. I usually walk unless someone –’ She cut herself off, realising what she was about to say would sound like a hint. ‘I usually walk.’

‘It’s cold today,’ he said. Then he peeked under the table and she felt her body grow unbearably hot, as if she were being baked from the inside. Yet Betsey didn’t move a muscle because if she did it could be construed as…what? Entrapment? Wooing? Something!

His handsome head came back up and she swallowed hard. It was torture, this flirting stuff. She’d forgotten just how much. ‘You’re wearing stockings.’

‘I have to,’ she said.

‘That’s gotta be cold.’

‘It can be.’ The spoon went round and round and round.

‘I can give you a ride. Since you’re taking me to your place and I’m going to try and become gainfully employed. Is that OK with you?’

‘Yeah. It is.’

Tony banged that bell. She started. There wasn’t an order that Betsey knew of. ‘Be right back,’ she said. She snagged his plate by the edge. ‘All done?’

Archie grabbed the fruit from the edge. Three small orange smiles and the rest of his sad green grapes. ‘Now I am.’